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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24626788">An average hug lasts nine seconds</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsChr/pseuds/ItsChr'>ItsChr</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Coming Out, Fluff, How Do I Tag, John has a crush too, M/M, Sherlock Has A Crush, bit of angst</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 11:15:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,490</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24626788</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsChr/pseuds/ItsChr</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock only accepts John because he makes good coffee. Also he has a secret that he needs to hide from the older boy. When his archenemy and bully Jim Moriarty finds out, everything breaks.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sherlock Holmes &amp; John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/Jim Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Black, two sugars.<br/>That's how Sherlock Holmes drank his coffee. He absolutely could not stand the brew if it wasn't perfect.</p><p>Let's get to the second part of his screwed-up life. <br/>John Watson.<br/>Sherlock hated him. He was an annoying blabbermouth, never knew when to shut up and completely obsessed with rugby. And all day long, he followed Sherlock around like a baby chick his mother. Unfortunately, John was connected to the first point in a very necessary way.</p><p>John Watson made good coffee. So Sherlock tolerated him.</p><p>Sherlock was, shall we say, different. He had no friends, just one. And of all people, he did not like him. His brain worked faster than any other. Ever since he was little, people have hated him for what he did.<br/>Deductions.<br/>His mother called it a gift. He called it a curse. Without meaning to, he blabbed the most unpleasant secrets of every person he met. They were written all over their faces, Sherlock just needed to read them off. And something inside him forced him to say them out loud.<br/>Most of the time, it ended in a black eye, a bloody nose, a broken finger. No one ever wanted to listen to him. At school, he wasn't allowed to speak. Whenever he put his hand up, he could be sure the teacher would ignore him. Still, he had good grades in the oral exam. He knew of course that the teachers hated him, that they blasphemed about him in the staff room. Once he had overheard a conversation between the caretaker and the sports teacher, in which they laughed at him, imitated him. He hadn't been particularly moved by it and the imitations hadn't been very good either, yet later he had written an anonymous email to the teacher's husband and told him about his wife's affair.</p><p>John, too, had had to experience this kind of revenge himself. But unlike any other person on the planet, he had looked at Sherlock excitedly and said: Fantastic!<br/>He wondered why John was so keen to be near him. But it didn't bother him anymore since John had started to bring him a self-righteous coffee to the table every day. Every now and then Sherlock mumbled an incomprehensible 'thank you', mostly he looked at the boy coolly. <br/>John was a year older than him. Sherlock had skipped a grade, so they were in the same classes.</p><p>That day, Sherlock stood in front of the school bulletin board and inspected the attachments. Some people tried to sell their bikes and old computers, others were looking for tutors. Someone needed a dog walker. Sherlock shook his head and sighed. Not just because of the stupid notes, but because John was coming at him from the side.<br/>Even before he could say anything, he reached out a hand and pressed it onto John's mouth without looking. "Don't talk, I'm in a bad mood."</p><p>To his surprise John nodded and smiled. He followed Sherlock as he made his way home. They walked silently side by side. Finally, John seemed unable to stand it any longer. "There's a rugby match tomorrow at school.I thought maybe you could come and watch. Well, Jim's got one ticket left, he said I could give it to someone." it blurted out of him. Sherlock stopped abruptly and bowed his head. "What?" he asked quietly. "The...match...tomorrow?" John seemed hopeful. "Who gave you the ticket?" he snorted. "Um, Jim...Jim Moriarty...you know. Small, black hair, pale. A bit like you, but...different." <br/>Sherlock shuddered slightly when he heard the name of the lousy little asshole. And John had just compared it to him. He grunted. "No, I'm definitely NOT coming to Jimmy's rugby match!" He stared at John angrily. And the latter backed off. "I didn't want you to watch Jim. I wanted you to watch me. Calm down." Sherlock hesitated. "Just an idea. Of course you can sit at home the rest of the day and do nothing. Like you always do."<br/>John pressed a wrinkled paper card into his hand and walked away in another direction. "Did I do something wrong?" asked Sherlock, but John didn't hear him.</p><p>The next morning he was greeted warmly by Jim Moriarty, who dumped a load of water on his face. "Morning, freak!" he chirped cheerfully. Sherlock wiped the liquid off his face and twisted his eyes. Without another word, he squeezed past his giggling classmates. <br/>Idiots.<br/>John put the coffee in front of him and sat down next to him in silence. "Thank you," Sherlock said, smiling at him. John raised his eyebrows. "What have I done to deserve this, you're talking to me. And I don't think I've ever seen you smile."<br/>"What do you mean?" asked Sherlock. The smile hurt, the designated muscles in his face weren't used much. John giggled. "You're dripping," he remarked, pointing to the small puddle under Sherlock's chair. "Oh, really?" he asked sarcastically.<br/>And the lesson started. It was boring, Sherlock wasn't even trying to contribute any more. Then John slipped him a note. Confused, he looked up from his fingertips. </p><p>-Are you in love?-</p><p>-Why would you think that?-</p><p>he wrote hastily on the paper. </p><p>-You look so dreamy-</p><p>-At my fingers... -</p><p>-And at Molly Hooper-</p><p>What? Sherlock frowned and looked at Molly, who was sitting next to Jim and Irene Adler in the front row.</p><p>-No, I don't do that at all! -</p><p>John giggled expressively. Or rather, meaninglessly.</p><p>-Stop laughing.-</p><p>-you of all people should know that she's into you-</p><p>Sherlock kicked John under the table. Of course he knew that. He couldn't have cared less, though. He'd never really been interested in girls. Not really interested in boys either, for a long time at least.</p><p>Then he had seen him for the first time. For days he had tried to get the boy out of his mind. Usually it worked, but not in this case. No matter what he tried, the dark-haired boy was always part of his thoughts.</p><p>Yup. Sherlock Holmes really liked Jim Moriarty. Of all people. The guy who insulted him day in, day out, beat him, laughed at him. In a frightening way, Sherlock actually found that quite attractive. Him on the floor. Jim's face so close to his, the soft voice at his ear. Sherlock was strangely not uncomfortable when that happened. He kinda liked it.</p><p>Jim was different. Just like him. Except Jim was popular. Very handsome. Very charismatic. Very funny and athletic. He was captain of the rugby team. And so far away from everything that Sherlock was.<br/>Lanky, tall, bony. Very unathletic. Very unhumorous. Very unpopular.<br/>They did have one thing in common, though. Jim was smart. Very smart. He was the only one who could read Sherlock like Sherlock read him. And that posed a problem. Sooner or later, Jim would find out what his real feelings were. And then there would be trouble. All the more reason to spend less time with chatty John Watson, who was also good friends with Jim. </p><p>Sherlock went to the rugby match. He felt uncomfortable, but at least he had a good view of Jim's ass in tight shorts.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There were many people on the school grounds. Proud parents, bored siblings, excited cheerleaders in short costumes and in the middle of it all was Sherlock.<br/>
He wished he was somewhere else. Somewhere where not everyone hated him. Alone in his room with his dog and his laptop. That was the ideal evening, not to stand shivering in the cold and watch a sport he wasn't interested in. Jim spotted him at the edge of the stands and threw a spiteful grin at him. Sherlock frowned. He felt he had to leave while he was still physically able to do so. John came towards him. "Hey, you came! What's wrong with you?" He squint his eyes together. "What about me?" Sherlock asked, trying to sound bored. "You've been so...nice lately." He shrugged his shoulders. John, too. "Wait for me after the match, I'll buy you a coffee." That sounded tempting, although Sherlock wasn't really planning on staying. But he nodded.<br/>
When the game was half over, Sherlock gave up. He didn't see the point in volunteering to roll around on the floor in front of the whole school. Teeth chattering, he pulled his scarf tighter around his neck. During the break, he would secretly steal away from the court.<br/>
He cleared his way through the crowd, trying not to bump into anyone. Arriving at the school gate he took a deep breath. He looked around again, wondering if John would be very angry with him, if Jim would be disappointed that he couldn't beat him up today.</p><p>He turned around and unexpectedly bumped into Molly Hooper, staggered two steps back and slammed his head against a lantern. Painfully, he made a face.<br/>
"Oh shit, sorry, I mean... Hi?" Molly looked at him with bright eyes. "Is everything okay?" She reached out to him, but he slapped her away. "It's fine, get out of my way," he muttered. She looked disappointed. Sherlock just gave it a push. "Sorry," he said, trying to look sincere. Molly had a big smile. "Why are you leaving so soon?" she asked. Sherlock sighed. "I'm cold, I don't feel like standing around and I hate rugby." She nodded. "Same." He forced himself to smile. She chuckled.</p><p>Then Sherlock stopped. Not because of Molly, but because of what was behind her. Moriarty and his gang were coming up on them. "Oh, dear." he muttered and sighed again. "What?" Molly turned. "God, Jim, give it a rest, what's he ever done to you?" Sherlock rolled his eyes and gave her an annoyed look. Jim ignored her in so much as he just pushed her aside in one fluid motion.</p><p>Pretty hot.</p><p>Sherlock smiled. It was an honest, open smile. He just wanted it to be over quickly. "Look how cute he can look." teased Jim, reached out a hand and gently drew a line across Sherlocks cheek. The smile faded, yet Sherlock melted away at his touch. "For you, always." he whispered and slapped the hand away. Whistling, Jim breathed the cold evening air. "And now he fights back!" He smiled meanly. "Bad boy."</p><p>Sherlock wanted to hear those words come out of that mouth again in that tone of voice.<br/>
The fight itself was going on like any other. Sebastian Moran, the giant knocked him down. Then Tom Wessley and Daniel Gollor joined in and started kicking him. Sherlock just tried to protect his face halfway and sighed unnervedly every now and then. He really had better things to do. For the grand finale Jim came down to him and spat in his face before he stood up again, smiling heartlessly, looking damn good.</p><p>No sooner were they gone than Molly bent over him whimpering. "Sherlock? Oh, my God, Sherlock! Say something!" He kept his eyes closed, didn't say anything. An order from the drama queen inside him.<br/>
Molly lightly patted his cheeks. She seemed to be checking to see if he was still breathing, at least he felt her face close to his. Then he heard her murmur "shit" and was shaken roughly. Still he didn't feel any intention to stop the game. Somehow she pulled him into a halfway stable lateral position. The floor was cold, hard, uncomfortable. Sherlock felt very welcome there.<br/>
He heard footsteps. A small but relatively muscular person who came closer in a hurry.</p><p>John.</p><p>He knelt down before him. "Hey, Sherlock, for fuck's sake, what have they done to you?" Sherlock tried to open his eyes, but when everything he saw became blurred, he closed them again. Normally he wouldn't have lain around for so long, but today he just felt small and worthless. Besides, it hurt more than usual. At least one rib had to be broken. He was having a hard time breathing. "That's enough, I'm calling an ambulance. And the police. Jim has to face the consequences for something like this!" said John all of a sudden. Sherlock opened his eyes. "No!" he gasped. "I'm all right!"<br/>
He straightened himself up with a groan. "I'll just..." He stood up shakily. "...go home" John shook his head in disbelief. "Sherlock, you..." He broke off. "At least take the coffee offer." Sherlock shrugged, which he immediately regretted.</p><p>The coffee was not good. Sherlock left it there. The waitress of the small empty bar had taken it away with an offended look. John sat next to him, tense and drumming his fingers around on the table. "And now?" he finally asked. Sherlock shrugged again. He rarely learned from his mistakes. "Can I go home now?"</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Sherlock woke up the next morning, his head was pounding. Yawning, he shuffled into the living room, where he let himself fall onto the couch, which his cracked ribs certainly didn't appreciate. Undecidedly he sat there for a while. Then Mycroft appeared in the doorway. "You and Hangover? I'm impressed." He smirked. Sherlock moaned. "I'm not hungover. Fuck off, Mycie." "Whatever you say, Miss Sherly." Mycroft disappeared. <br/>It was Saturday, windy and cold outside.Sherlock stared at the ceiling, nothing but a sheet on. He was shaking, but he was too comfortable to get up and turn the heating up. The doorbell rang. <br/>After the third time, Sherlock went into the hall, annoyed. He pulled the door open. <br/>Outside was John. Astonished, he looked at Sherlock, who looked down at himself and blushed a little. <br/>"Coffee?" asked John and lifted a thermos. Sherlock stepped aside without a word and let him enter. John smiled. Back in the living room he sat down slowly on an armchair and looked around. "Is that a real skull?" he asked, sounding a little worried. "Friend of the family... Well, Mum says friend." John nodded and raised an eyebrow. Redbeard ran excitedly into the room and immediately fixed on John. He let the friendly face shower go over him as he gently pushed the setter away. "You have a dog?" Sherlock nodded. " Apparently. " John scratched Redbeard behind the ears. "Can I stay here all day? My... " "Dad drank after the match yesterday, and he's hung over and aggressive. " Sherlock nodded. "Yes, you can." John rolled his eyes. "Thanks."</p><p>"When was Owen Farrell born?" asked Sherlock, sipping his coffee. "I don't know," said John, looking up from a vocabulary book. "What kind of fan are you?" Sherlock shook his head dramatically. "What's that supposed to mean?" John rolled his eyes. "I'm sure your teammates would know the date." "Don't give me that crap. I thought you knew everything." "Everything that is sort of important." "He is important to me!" "Looks like he's not important enough." John pouted. "Well then, don't help me with my super-important essay on Owen Farrell, cos I've got a better idea than you." "Oh, let me guess, you can find out where he lives from a little stain on his shirt in a photograph, ring the bell and ask him?" Sherlock stared at him. "Are you really that stupid? I'll just Google him." John got quiet. "Another option," he muttered.</p><p>Sherlock opened his laptop. Instead of Googling Owen Farrell, he opened the online school paper.<br/>He froze in an instant when he saw the front page.</p><p>It was a photo of him next to Jim, smiling warmly and obviously attracted by what he saw. Jim, on the other hand, looked as if he was about to say something very naughty and then hit him.<br/>The headline said: <br/>--Breaking News: School freak's so gay and so in love with the rugby captain!--</p><p>His heart skipped about ten beats. He threw a frightened look at John, who focused on his vocabulary again. Then he shut the computer, slammed it on the table and ran into the bathroom.<br/>He locked the door, jumped to the toilet and vomited. He hung over the bowl, panting. <br/>"Sherlock?" he heard John in the corridor.<br/>"Are you OK?"<br/> Sherlock didn't reply. Instead, he leaned against the bathroom door, closed his eyes and allowed his tears to flow. And he couldn't care less whether John could hear him or not. "Sherlock, what happened? Can you hear me?" John sounded agitated and a bit panicky. Sherlock nodded, forgetting that the other one couldn't see him at all.<br/>"I...I can hear you, maybe...can you knock once for yes and twice for no?"<br/>Sherlock couldn't, because his body obeyed him only after a great delay. Instead, he took out his mobile phone from his pocket (he had changed by now) and wrote a message to Mycroft saying something like this: Delete the fucking online newspaper or I'll kill myself. <br/>Then he texted John's number.</p><p>--Go, or they'll beat you up too--</p><p>He felt John leaning against the door on the other side. "Who? What happened?" Sherlock didn't reply.<br/>Mycroft answered.</p><p>-- 15 minutes, sorry, that's the fastest we can--</p><p>Sherlock moaned.<br/>"Sherlock? Please come out, I'm not leaving." He hesitated. "Are you in pain? Are you ill or something?"<br/>Sherlock shook his head silently. Well, maybe a little. "Is it your computer? Did Owen Farrell scare you that much?" He chuckled. Then he fell silent. "Can I...look?" </p><p>--Okay--</p><p>"Sure? Won't you just tell me?"<br/> Shit, thought Sherlock. What if John had already seen it? What if JIM had seen it? He whimpered at the idea.<br/>He heard John getting up. <br/>That was it. In about ten seconds, their entire friendship would be over.</p><p>For a terrible time, nothing happened.<br/>Then John cleared his throat. "Is it true?" he asked.<br/>Sherlock breathed shallowly and swallowed. "Yes," he said softly. In fact, it was so soft, John probably didn't hear it, so Sherlock repeated himself. "Yes, that's...right. You can go now."</p><p>He heard John rise up again. And he could hear the footsteps slowly receding.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The steps came closer again. Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief. <br/>John was still there.<br/>Suddenly there was a crash, he felt a huge jolt and fell backwards, splinters of wood all over his body. "What..." he struggled to get out. He looked up. John was standing over him. "I should have known." Sherlock muttered and sighed. "Of course you're going to beat me up before you go." John pulled a face. "Sorry, what? Sherlock pulled himself up by the door frame. "Why are you doing this?" John asked. Sherlock looked at him in surprise. "Why am I doing what?" "Self-pity. I knew you were being dramatic, but this...is a bit over the top, don't you think?" He looked at him funny. "Well, you've just learnt a disgusting secret from me, everyone will hate your friend, the freak, even more than they already do. A logical consequence for you would be to, you know... leave."</p><p>John shook his head. Sherlock's phone vibrated.</p><p>--Done--</p><p>He took a deep breath. Maybe he could change schools on short notice.<br/>"So... you like Jim?" began John. Sherlock twitched. "Please, stop." His face was all wet and shiny, his eyes were red and he was shaking all over. "It's...fine, it's all fine." John nodded. Sherlock looked at him through a kind of tunnel vision. "Nothing's fine, John, nothing." He made his way through the wood on the floor, pushed the completely destroyed door aside and went into the living room, where he was now standing indecisively.<br/>He heard John coming towards him. "I'm sorry about the door, I can... pay for it." <br/>"No, you can't."<br/> "No, I can't." <br/>Sherlock giggled. It was quiet, hardly audible. "Sherlock, I'm honest, I don't know well how to comfort people...but...maybe you want..." </p><p>Sherlock turned and saw John with his arms outstretched in front of him. </p><p>"...a coffee?"</p><p>He smiled gently. Sherlock walked towards John, unsteady, like a timid animal. Then he was close enough for John to take him in his arms.</p><p>For a long time they just stood there. The hug was strange, Sherlock was much too big and had to bend down far to cling to John.</p><p>"I won't let anyone hurt you, okay? Ever." </p><p>Sherlock frowned.<br/>That was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to him.<br/> Maybe, just maybe John wasn't so bad after all. <br/>And he smelt good.<br/>Wait, what?</p><p>Sherlock let go in a hurry and took a step back. "What is it?" John asked, looking at him worried. "Nothing... it's just, er, the average hug lasts about nine seconds. And this one was...longer." John raised one eyebrow. "Okay?" Sherlock scratched his head, looked down, at the floor, the window, then the door. "Ah, Mycroft, good to see you, John was just leaving!" He pushed the smaller one down the hallway to the front door. "Sherlock...?" he protested.</p><p>When John was outside, Sherlock ran back and forth excitedly, across the sofa, the armchair, the coffee table, the dining table. Mycroft looked at him in wonder.<br/>But Sherlock was trapped in his mind palace.</p><p>What the hell just happened?</p><p>"Sherlock, careful, the..." said Mycroft, when it rattled. "...vase." <br/>Sherlock opened his eyes and got down from the table. He blinked. The whole house was ransacked. Broken glass and water in the living room, splinters of wood in the hall and bathroom, vomit in the toilet bowl.<br/>Mycroft turned up his nose at the sour smell. "Couldn't you at least have flushed?"<br/>Wordlessly, Sherlock walked into his room, unpacked his violin and started playing random notes. It didn't sound good, a bit distorted, you could say, but it helped him think.<br/>It was late at night when he was interrupted by the ringing of his phone. "Thank god." he heard Mycroft say in the room next doors. Carelessly he threw the violin on his bed and looked at the display. </p><p>Unknown number.</p><p>Of course he knew that the creepy "prank" calls would increase significantly now, but he answered it anyway. <br/>Could be fun.<br/>He wasn't prepared for what happened next.</p><p>"Hi, sweetheart." <br/>Sherlock gasped.<br/> "How are you doing?" The voice was bright and cold. Scary. Sherlock was shaking.<br/> "Who..."<br/> "Oh, you know exactly who." <br/>The voice laughed softly. "And you're secretly pleased...that I'm calling." <br/>"Jim?" <br/> Laughter.<br/>Almost like a ghost.<br/> "Clever boy."<br/>In one fell swoop, Sherlock forgot about all the hormone-controlled happiness he'd ever felt in front of that monster. He was terrified. Sweat ran down his temples. <br/>"Okay, stop this now. It's not funny."<br/>Laughter.<br/>"I think it's funny."<br/>"Good for you."<br/>"I can see you."</p><p>He didn't dare to stir. "Where are you? Go away!" His voice was hardly a whisper anymore.<br/> "Are you scared, sweetie? But you want me... dilated pupils, high pulse, you get excited when you're near me. Even down there." <br/>Sherlock swallowed. He'd seen this coming. He had seen this coming.<br/>"Go away. Leave me alone."<br/>"Your fantasies might come true...tonight." <br/>He heard Jim smiling.<br/>"I don't want them to."<br/>"Well... tough luck... Because I do."</p><p>And then he saw it.<br/>That pale face outside his window, grinning at him.<br/>Sherlock's eyes widened. And he did the things that came to him off the top of his head.</p><p>"MYCROFT!" he screamed. <br/>His parents weren't home. His brother gave him the last shred of security. Less than three seconds later the door slammed open. "Sherlock? <br/>Mycroft's hair was mussed and he had deep shadows under his eyes. <br/>"What happened, are you all right?"<br/>Sherlock shook his head violently and pointed to the window. The face was still there. Mycroft flinched for a moment then he went and opened the window.<br/>For a terrible moment Sherlock was terrified that Jim would unexpectedly plunge a knife into his brother's neck, but nothing happened. Mycroft turned around unharmed, a plastic mask from the dollar store in his hand. <br/>"And you call yourself the genius of the family?" he laughed and waved it in front of him, but stopped as soon as he saw the expression on his little brother's face.</p><p>Scared to death. Pale. Sweaty.</p><p>"Looks like you don't like the dear rugby captain that much after all."</p><p>Instead of answering, Sherlock tightened the handle around his phone. "It's okay now, okay?"<br/>Why did so many people tell him that today?<br/>Sherlock shook his head again. "No. I fucked up."<br/> "Yes, you did."<br/> Mycroft smiled.<br/>"You can sleep in my room if you want."</p><p>Sherlock felt like the biggest baby in the world when he nodded slightly.<br/>A minute later, he snuggled up against his brother, a bit scared, and fell asleep.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Sherlock woke up the next morning, he was alone. The events of the previous evening had almost been forgotten. Until he discovered Mycroft's note on the fridge.</p><p>-I'm shopping, if another mask is stuck to your window, don't shout, how am I going to explain this to the neighbours?-</p><p>Sherlock tore the note angrily and threw it in the trash. His mobile phone rang. He froze and didn't dare move a muscle until it was quiet again in the kitchen.<br/>
Jim, it shot through his head. He peered at the display. The call had not come from Jim. It was John who spammed him with messages after Sherlock didn't take his call.<br/>
He sighed in relief.</p><p>-Calm down -</p><p>he wrote and sat down on the armchair in the living room.</p><p>The doorbell rang. Sherlock flinched again, but he heard the familiar voice calling out to him.<br/>
"Sherlock? You there?"</p><p>Sherlock opened the door and John entered without another word. As his coffee delivery man went into the kitchen he looked worriedly to the left and right before closing the front door.</p><p>Slowly he followed John.</p><p>"You look kind of pale... Is everything all right?"</p><p>Sherlock wondered whether he should tell John about his nocturnal experience, but decided against it. John would think he was a hysterical coward.</p><p>"I've always been pale, John, are you only noticing that now?" he said instead.</p><p>"Well, you seem so rushed. Has something happened? Tell me."</p><p>"John!" Sherlock looked at the scrawny little boy with a warning. "Come on,' John moaned. He knew perfectly well that Sherlock wasn't fine and it scared him a bit.</p><p>"Moriarty," Sherlock murmured softly and looked down. "Oh, yeah, your crush, has he come forward?" John smiled. "Stop it, it's not funny, you evolutionary drag. He called me in the middle of the night and...suddenly something was at my window. I was home alone and..." He decided to drop the Mycroft thing.</p><p>"Oh, shit, do you want me to talk to him? This has gone way too far."</p><p>"What no! What, are you crazy?!" Sherlock shook his head in a hurry. "I'm never going to sleep again!"</p><p>"Wait a minute," John said after a pause. He pulled a small pad, along with a pencil, from his rucksack. Hastily he scribbled down a telephone number. "This is the number of a therapist I've known for a long time. Maybe he can help you."</p><p>Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Are you serious? I've got to change schools, I can't stay here. I have to move because the whole town thinks I'm ridiculous!"</p><p>"So what?" John looked at him with a penetrating look. "Since when do you care what anybody thinks of you?"</p><p>"I care what Jim thinks of me." "Even after what he did yesterday? This guy hates you. He's cruel, he's creepy, he's an asshole. Why don't you fight back?"</p><p>"Because I fucking love him."<br/>
"That's not true! You are just looking for something about yourself that is normal. And a crush is normal. But you need a caregiver who doesn't crush you. The only person who seriously finds you ridiculous is Jim!"</p><p>Sherlock backed off. "And you want some strange guy to be the caregiver?"<br/>
"No, God damn it, Sherlock!" John swallowed and clenched his fists.<br/>
"Me!</p><p>For a moment, there was silence. Then a key turned in the lock and Mycroft rumbled into the hall. Sherlock stared at John, who looked down at the floor.<br/>
John grabbed his bag and ran out of the house. Mycroft entered the kitchen. "Whoa, have you upset your little friend?"<br/>
"Shut up Mycroft"</p><p>Sherlock grabbed the block that John had left on the kitchen counter and went into his room. He glanced at the therapist's telephone number for a long time. Then he started leafing through the pad because he couldn't think of anything better.</p><p>He knew he wouldn't find anything interesting, so he started correcting John's maths notes.</p><p>When he reached the next page, he paused. Instead of formulas and calculations, he found a complete page with multiple variations on a single word: Sherlock.</p><p>And behind each one a little heart.</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sherlock walked hurriedly through the streets of the neighbourhood. It was a time when there were no buses. He knew this because he had to walk every time he overslept.</p><p>John, John, I have to find John.</p><p>These were the present thoughts buzzing through his head. Around his shoulder hung a bag in which he carried the block that made him question his entire life.</p><p>It was clear that his little friend was here somewhere. Only where?<br/>Sherlock entered the city park. He shivered a little, regretting not putting on a jacket before he left the house. </p><p>The trees rustled in the wind. The grey clouds were piling up in the sky. A thunderstorm was coming. Soon Sherlock felt the first drops on his face. Hastily, he ran a hand through his hair.</p><p>That's when he saw him.</p><p>John was sitting on a green-strewn park bench, staring into space. Sherlock swallowed, not knowing what to say. Finally, he carefully settled down beside him.</p><p>"Sorry," he mumbled. "I didn't mean to hurt you...I just didn't think you...and I...were really friends."</p><p>He took a deep breath. </p><p>"It's okay," John murmured. "I'll take your word for that..."</p><p>Sherlock reached into his pocket. He hesitated for a moment, then pulled out the pad. "You forgot your pad"</p><p>"Oh, thank you," John said. Then his eyes widened. Suddenly he stared at Sherlock.<br/>Sherlock stared back.</p><p>"Um, I don't know what's going on with you right now..." He scratched the back of his neck nervously. "Is everything okay?"</p><p>"No, you... you saw it, don't pretend. You looked through that fucking pad!" </p><p>Sherlock narrowed his eyes as John jerked back. "Yeah, well maybe I scribbled in your maths notes, but it's not my fault you obviously don't know anything about integral calculus..."</p><p>"Sherlock! You know what I mean!"</p><p>"No, what?"</p><p>"For fuck's sake, I love you!"</p><p>Sherlock jerked back, startled. The provocation had made it easier than he'd thought. And a little more aggressive, too.</p><p>John jumped up and Sherlock hastily clawed at his sleeve to hold him back. By now it had started pouring down and they were both soaked from top to bottom. Rain dripped from the tip of John's nose, mixed with single tears.</p><p>"What are you going to do now, huh? I'm not Jim? I'm not worth as much as him? I don't beat you up for fun? All I can do is make coffee like a 17th century housewife?" he burst out.</p><p>"You can't fucking change it, okay? I know you're the cold sociopath!"</p><p>At the last words he broke away and made a sweeping gesture.</p><p>"But just let me go now!"</p><p>The bag slid off Sherlock's shoulder and landed in the dirt beside the completely sodden block. Wind turned the pages until Sherlock's name was soaked in multiples.</p><p>"I'm sorry," he said finally, trembling. Then he took a step towards John. He didn't like it. Sherlock could literally feel it. The rain drummed on the earth, rumbling like a light earthquake. Thunder, followed by lightning, quickly appeared in the sky before disappearing forever.</p><p>Sherlock slowly reached for John's hand, clasping it, finger by finger.<br/>John had his gaze fixed on the ground and had gone very pale. Only his eyes were a little red. </p><p>Sherlock carefully lifted his chin and looked him straight in the teary eyes. "I will never let you go"</p><p>Then he did something he had never done before. Something he had dreamed about for a long time, only the person in front of him was not the one from his dreams. Or was it?</p><p>Gently, he placed his lips on John's. <br/>John was closer to him than ever before and he kissed back. His lips pressed lightly against Sherlock's, guided by the moisture of the rain.</p><p>It was Sherlock who pulled back. Breathless, he looked at John. For an awful while he feared John would turn and leave. But he tentatively fell around his neck.<br/>And Sherlock remembered that the average hug lasted nine seconds.<br/>He counted off the time and then hugged John tighter.</p><p>It was not an average hug.</p><p>It was a hug that gave him love. Happiness. And life.</p>
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